


Should've Known Better

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cersei and Jaime Are Not Related, College, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Professors, Sex, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, college students
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: It's not every day in a man’s life that he finally makes the decision to abandon a long-term, toxic relationship and moves hundreds of miles away to a new town and to begin a new job.  This particular venue, however, was decidedly not what Jaime had envisioned when Tyrion had told him that he was taking Jaime out to see all that Winterfell had to offer.Then again, Tyrion’s idea of celebrating had always been the polar opposite of his.Jaime should’ve known better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts).



> This story idea has been haunting me for ages now, and since I'm stuck on my other WIPs, I figured what the hell - why not give this one a go to see if I could shake the muse up a bit. I'm dedicating it to Janina, my fellow Jaimsa aficionado and beta for this tale. Thank you, darling, for all of your support and feedback on this one. I hope I don't disappoint! 
> 
> And to all the folks out there who think it’s their duty to jump my ass for my rendition of Jaime/Cersei, any comments that harass me about my choice of tags, how I write their relationship, etc., will be deleted immediately. I have a real life outside of writing; I don't have time to deal with petty shit like that. 
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not. 
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

While sitting all alone on his barstool, Jaime Lannister blankly stared into the bottom of his second empty glass of wine.  As the throbbing techno tunes inside the nightclub pounded his brain into a gelatinous gob of goo, he rubbed his aching temple.  He’d never been the type of man who thrived in such an environment, even in his younger years when he’d actually possessed the stamina to endure such a diversion.  At present, Jaime wished to all the gods both known and unknown that he’d stuck to his proverbial guns when he’d initially refused his younger brother’s incessant nagging to come out tonight to celebrate.

Granted, it’s not every day in a man’s life that he finally makes the decision to abandon a long-term, toxic relationship and moves hundreds of miles away to a new town and to begin a new job.  This particular venue, however, was decidedly _not_ what Jaime had envisioned when Tyrion had told him that he was taking Jaime out to see all that Winterfell had to offer.

Then again, Tyrion’s idea of celebrating had always been the polar opposite of his.

Jaime should’ve known better.

Come to think of it, that sounded like the perfect title to the story of Jaime’s life.

Three months ago, Jaime had uprooted his entire existence because he was tired.  So, so tired of his life as Cersei Baratheon’s dirty little secret.

Jaime had grown weary of waiting for his married lover to leave Robert, her über-wealthy, overweight, boorish husband.  For too many years to count, Jaime had patiently waited in the wings, finding solace in her well-toned arms during their stolen moments of clandestine passion.  Time and time again, Jaime had begged Cersei to leave Robert.  He had pledged his unwavering love for her repeatedly.  He’d even offered to raise Cersei’s three children as his own.  Custody battles and societal scandals be damned, Jaime had wanted to fight for her.  Yet Cersei had always artfully dodged his fervid pleas and had always managed to find a reason to stay.

And so, Jaime had waited.  Waited and waited until Cersei’s youngest child, Tommen, graduated from high school in May.  With no kids left at home, Jaime imagined the time had _finally_ arrived when Cersei could walk out of her high-end, hand-carved mahogany front door as a free woman with nothing further to bind her to Robert.

However, when Jaime had pressed her into leaving her husband once and for all, it didn’t take Jaime long to discover that Cersei was perfectly content with the arrangement at hand.  Sleeping with the handsome college professor while living in the lap of luxury on her husband’s estate had suited Cersei’s tastes perfectly fine.  She’d never truly intended to run off with a man who couldn’t afford her, no matter how incredible the sex was.  Cersei had even said so herself.

That did it.  Jaime was done.  He was through with Cersei and her manipulative ways.  He was through wasting his life on a woman who didn’t truly want him.  Jaime needed a change.  He needed to escape and to make a fresh start.

Desperate for a change of venue, Jaime abruptly resigned his tenured professorship at the prestigious University of Westeros at King’s Landing the day after classes ended.  Luckily, he’d found a considerably lower paying gig at Riverrun College in Winterfell as a mere Adjunct Professor in their English department.  When he’d signed the paperwork, Jaime made peace with the knowledge that come December, he either would be hired by the small liberal arts college as a full-time faculty member on the tenure track or would be politely told to find gainful employment elsewhere.

It was a calculated risk.

But it was a risk worth taking if it meant he could get as far away from King’s Landing as possible.

Nothing in the last decade had felt quite as exhilarating to Jaime as the moment when he’d witnessed the giant green sign on the side of the highway welcoming him to Winterfell.  He’d sold his upscale, urban yuppie condo back in King’s Landing at less than market value to break free quickly, donating or junking virtually almost all of his worldly goods in his haste to depart.  He’d driven almost non-stop the whole way from King’s Landing to Winterfell, pausing only to catch a brief nap or a quick snack at a truck stop along the way. 

Over the summer before classes began at Riverrun, Jaime had left his unpacked possessions where they lay in his rented condo to embark on a solo backpacking adventure across Essos.  As he tried to put Cersei behind him, the time spent in the fresh air while he hiked and camped brought a sense of clarity to his muddled thoughts.  Out in the wilderness without any form of contact with his former lover, Jaime had all the time in the world to rage, to cry, and to heal.

Though the pain of her rejection still stung if he dwelled on it too long, by the time he’d returned to Winterfell last week, Jaime’s sense of purpose in life felt renewed.  Classes started on Monday.  No more time to dwell on the past while in the midst of teaching duties.  And without Cersei to distract him, Jaime could rekindle his passion for writing.  In fact, his head was brimming with potential ideas for his unfinished and rarely touched novel.  Hell, he’d even started to write poetry again.

Never in Jaime’s life had he felt so free.

Ironic considering how completely trapped Jaime felt right about now while stuck in this godforsaken nightclub.

_“Let’s celebrate!” Tyrion insisted when he’d dropped by Jaime’s place after work.  “It’s not every day that my older brother moves halfway across the country just to be near me.”_

_“As much as I adore you,” Jaime scoffed, “you know very well that I moved here to get away from Cersei.”_

_“Even more reason to celebrate,” Tyrion smirked when Jaime rolled his jade green eyes in frustration.  Undaunted, Tyrion sauntered toward Jaime where he stood in front of the built-in bookcases beside the wood-burning fireplace.  “This will be here tomorrow, Jaime.  Come with me tonight and have a little fun for once.”_

_Shaking his head defiantly, Jaime reached into the open box, yanking out a book as he rejected Tyrion’s offer.  “I’ll pass.  Go on without me.  I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding something or someone to amuse you for the night.”_

_Nonplussed by his brother’s rejection, Tyrion forged ahead like a man on a mission.  “And that is exactly what you need to do as well, dear brother.”  Tyrion quickly snatched the book out of Jaime’s hands.  The much shorter man whirled around to open the leather-bound volume.  “Unless, of course, you’d actually prefer to spend the night with one of your dead poets instead of - ”_

_“I’m not going!”  Jaime yanked his book out of his laughing brother’s hands.  He carefully placed his well-loved first edition of Shelley on the same shelf nestled right between Byron and Keats._

_Tyrion merely grinned.  “We’ll see about that.”_

That had been two hours ago.

And now here sat Jaime in The Tower of Joy, or so this obnoxious hellhole was inaptly dubbed.  God save him but this place was the type of establishment which Jaime had abhorred even in his youth.  Chock full of lighted dance floors, mirrored ceilings and pink champagne on ice, this dimly-lit den of iniquity was packed to the brim with sweaty young adults writhing and grinding in a chaotic yet rhythmic fashion to the hypnotic beat reverberating off the walls.

_“You’re much stodgier than I remember,” Tyrion had taunted Jaime, who within minutes after arriving at the club had waxed poetic about the noise level and crowded conditions._

_“I’m a middle-aged English lit professor, for Christ’s sake,” Jaime had shouted over the noise rising from the speakers surrounding them as they shoved their way through the throng of patrons while trying to make their way to the sleek onyx and glass bar.  “I’m supposed to be stodgy.  It comes with the job description!”_

And now, left to his own devices while Tyrion worked his magic on some petite brunette in a hideously tight purple dress over by the DJ booth, Jaime inhaled and exhaled slowly.  Though he’d had countless opportunities to indulge himself, Jaime was not a womanizer.  Tyrion’s solution to every problem might involve either alcohol or women or both, but Jaime disagreed.  Wine and women were to be savored and enjoyed, not plowed through like a man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Groaning as the pulsating rhythm ratcheted up even more impossibly loud, Jaime imagined that based on the sins which he had committed in this life, this was exactly the kind of place where Jaime’s soul would wind up in purgatory.  Surely, Dante must have time travelled to the future, spent an evening at the Tower of Joy, and then went back to the fourteenth century to complete his _Divine Comedy._

While lost in thought, Jaime didn’t see the tall redhead scooching up to him on his left.

“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?” he heard a woman’s voice over the racket in the nightclub.

With his attention diverted, Jaime nonchalantly turned toward the voice.  His eyes widened in awe at the vision before him.

Under the dim lighting of the bar, the young stranger’s ivory skin seemed opalescent when paired with her sleeveless black dress.  Her long, shapely legs seemed to go on forever as they stretched out from the silky fabric of her tasteful, knee-length skirt.  Flaming red hair cascaded down her back all the way to her waist, save for the few artfully twirled pieces clipped on the side of her head above her right ear.  With her pale skin glowing and her hair raging like wildfire, the lovely young woman was the living embodiment of Millais’s _Ophelia_ herself.

Jaime swallowed hard and blinked a few times as he regained his wits.

“Pardon me?” he asked.

“The seat.  Is anyone sitting there?”

“Not anymore.”  Jaime waved toward the empty stool which his younger brother had abandoned long ago in his never-ending quest to get laid.  “Help yourself; it’s all yours.” 

“Thank you.”  The young lady smiled sweetly at him as she removed her purse and rested it on the bar.

Jaime nodded in reply, returning his gaze toward his empty glass.  Out of the corner of his eye, however, he snuck a peek at the ginger gracefully sliding onto the stool next to him.  Her whole demeanor reeked of an upper-class upbringing as she perched on her seat with her head held high, her back ram-rod straight, and her well-manicured hands primly folded in her lap.  She definitely seemed quite out of place at such an establishment as this one.

Almost as much as he felt, come to think of it.

“Do you come here often?” the young woman asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

Brushing aside the stray strands of shaggy blond hair dangling in his eyes, Jaime momentarily bristled.  He’d been brought here tonight against his will, and he’d already been hit on at least a half dozen times since his arrival.  He was no fool, however.  He’d seen himself in the mirror.  Women found him attractive.  They always had.  Over the years, though, his looks had been more of a curse than a blessing, namely in the form of the stick-thin she-devil whom he’d left behind in King’s Landing. 

Jaime swiveled slightly on his stool to face the stranger who was suddenly so interested in his social schedule.  Although he’d fully intended to be polite yet curt with the young woman, his initial instinct instantly softened.  The sincere, pleasant look on her face caused him to smile instead.  Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions.  The damsel might simply be looking for a spot of small talk while waiting for her date to arrive.  Jaime could handle that.  He could play nice in the sandbox for a spell.

“I’ve never been here in my life,” he said.  “And you?”

The young woman appeared relieved by his admission.  “Me either; it’s my first time too.”

Her confession caused both Jaime’s natural charm and dry wit to flare.

“Then it would appear that we’re both virgins.”  Donning a cheeky smirk, Jaime pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward the dance floor.   “Let’s hope that our secret isn’t discovered tonight, lest we be sacrificed to one of their pagan gods.”

Caught off guard by his jest, the ginger burst into a fit of laughter.  Demurely, she covered her red-stained lips with her hand until she reined in her giggles.

“I promise not to tell if you don’t,” the young woman said. 

Jaime couldn’t resist joining her in her merriment.  Her radiant smile was infectious. 

“On my honor, my lady.  Your secret is safe with me.”

When Jaime winked at her, a ruddy flush flashed across the young woman’s pale cheeks.  Worrying her bottom lip, her eyes dashed down the angles of Jaime’s face toward his black button-down shirt, blazing a trail lower and lower until she realized her faux pas.  Her bright blue eyes quickly snapped upward to meet his, the embarrassment at having been caught red-handed causing her face to fire an even deeper shade of crimson.  Yet when the young lady realized that the object of her appraisal appeared amused, her lips curled into a coy grin.

“My very own knight in shining armor. . .it must be my lucky day.”

Jaime’s eyebrow arched when she made it a point to reach over and gently pat his forearm resting in his lap.  Certainly the young woman could see that he was old enough to be her father.  The wisps of gray in his beard and at his temples were a dead-giveaway on that front.

Still, if he were handsome enough to make a fair maiden blush, what would it hurt to flirt a bit in return with the pretty young girl?  He was going to be stuck at this wretched nightclub for hours.  Why not have a little fun?

With a considerable amount of flourish, Jaime placed his hand over his heart as he gallantly bowed his head toward her.   “I am at your service, my lady.” 

“Arise, brave knight,” she laughed as Jaime sat up straight once again.  With her perfectly straight white teeth gleaming, she stuck out her hand.  “I’m Sansa, by the way.”

“Jaime,” he replied as he took her hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Jaime.”

“Likewise.”

On a complete whim, Jaime opted to forgo the traditional handshake.  He’d always been a helpless romantic, even if Cersei had thought his antiquated notions of chivalry and sonnets were ridiculous.  Jaime leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on top of Sansa’s knuckles.  The slight hitch in her breath when his lips met her soft skin pleased him more than he cared to admit. 

While still staring at each other, neither one of them retracting their hands, they didn’t notice the bartender approaching them.

“You want another one?” the younger man behind the counter asked.

Startled by the sudden intrusion, Sansa hurriedly removed her hand.  She lowered her eyes though peered up at Jaime through her thick lashes.

“Yes, thank you,” Jaime grinned, “and please put whatever the lady would like on my tab as well.”  He’d already told himself after the last glass that he was done, yet now here he sat preparing to do exactly the opposite. 

“But Jaime,” Sansa gasped, “you don’t have to - ”

“Please, allow me.  Consider it my parting gift to you before the ritual dancing and tortures commence.”

Though Jaime maintained a straight face, Sansa burst into a fit of giggles.  The confused bartender stood fast while trying to mask his annoyance at having to wait for her order.

“I’ll have a lemon drop cocktail, then,” she requested.

As the bartender snatched Jaime’s empty glass and left to go fetch their drinks, Sansa angled herself toward Jaime.  Tilting her head to the side, she carefully studied him.

“Thank you, kind sir.  Your generosity is most appreciated.”

Jaime couldn’t resist.  He truly was enjoying this banter.  “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

Biting her lip in thought, Sansa glanced about the bar area before she spoke.  “I hope whoever you’re here with tonight won’t mind us talking.  I mean, I wouldn’t want to get you in any trouble or anything.”

Her comment made Jaime look over his shoulder.  He spotted his wayward brother still parked by the DJ booth.  Tyrion was conversing not only with his first potential conquest of the night but also a second woman as well, a virtual clone of the first except for her painfully short frock covered in a hideous mish-mash of neon colors.  Either Tyrion planned to bed _two_ ladies tonight or, worse yet, he was plotting to shove one off on Jaime.

Either option was not something on which Jaime cared to dwell.

 “You needn’t worry about that,” he replied.

“So, you are here alone,” Sansa hummed. 

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I did come here with someone tonight.”

To his delight, Sansa’s face fell slightly.  “You did?”

Jaime turned in his seat and pointed toward Tyrion.  “Do you see the little person in the gray Armani suit over there by the DJ booth?”

Now it was Sansa’s turn to arch an eyebrow.  Without a word, Sansa peered over Jaime’s broad shoulders and followed the pathway of his index finger.

Jaime waited until Sansa caught Tyrion in her cross-hairs.  “That’s my younger brother.  He’s the one who brought me here tonight.”

Sansa’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open.  “Really?”

“Really.”

“He’s your brother?”  Sansa abruptly turned her attention back to Jaime. 

“Mm-hmm.”

“The guy who owns Whetstone Books is your brother?”  In disbelief, she stared at Tyrion over Jaime’s shoulder yet again.

 “You know him?”  Jaime couldn’t hide his enjoyment of the irony of the situation.

Sansa’s whole face lit up.  “Know him?  Gosh, yeah!  I mean, I _love_ his store; I go in there all the time.  I spend hours in there just walking through all the stacks of old books.  No joke. ”

Jaime was astounded.  What a stroke of luck; not only did the young lady fancy him, but she also fancied books as well.  Cersei’s idea of reading was checking out the latest fashion tips in _Cosmopolitan._   It appeared that Sansa wasn’t the only one having a lucky day.

“An avid reader, are you?” he asked.

“You have no idea!”  Sansa looked like she might burst in anticipation of his response.  “What about you?  Do you love books as much as your brother?”

“Absolutely.  It runs in the family.”

“Wow, that’s just. . .it’s. . .”  As Sansa’s voice trailed off, she stared at Jaime, silently gazing upon him as her eyes glassed over like she was lost somewhere deep inside her head.

 “A small world, isn’t it?”  Jaime smiled as he finished her thought.

Sansa, who immediately smiled at him in return, didn’t have a chance to answer before the bartender approached with drinks in hand.  Sansa thanked him politely as she took her cocktail.  When Jaime reached for his wine on the bar, she raised her drink and motioned for him to do the same.

“Let’s toast!”

Jaime obediently lifted his glass of Dornish red.  “To what?”

“To knights who love to read.”  Sansa clinked the edge of her cocktail against the rim of Jaime’s wine glass.

“To knights who love to read,” Jaime laughed.  He watched her intently over the top of his wine glass as she took a long, deliberate sip while staring directly in his eyes.

Before Jaime knew it, almost forty minutes had slipped past him.  He’d been enjoying himself like he hadn’t in ages.  Through their interwoven conversations about their favorite books, genres, authors, and poets, Jaime had discovered a kindred spirit in Sansa.  Not only was she extremely well-read, she also was an aspiring writer in her spare time when not waitressing at a local eatery.  He thoroughly enjoyed how Sansa’s entire face exuded excitement while she shared some details about her novel-in-the works, a gothic romance tale about a woman forced into a marriage with a cruel, horrible man even though she was in love with her first cousin.

As the conversation pressed onward, the familiar flutter of want began to percolate low in Jaime’s gut.  Unlike his younger brother, Jaime had always prided himself that a pair of fine eyes on the face of a pretty woman did not immediately invoke a meditation on the pleasures which they could bestow.  To Jaime’s surprise, that was exactly what was happening as Sansa discussed her novel with him.

Maybe Jaime had been wrong.  Maybe he was more like Tyrion than he’d cared to admit.

Undoubtedly, Sansa was a delicious combination of funny, flirtatious, and fascinating; she was the proverbial beauty with brains.  Because he hadn’t desired another woman but Cersei for so long, Jaime was shocked by his body’s reaction to Sansa.  Yet by the time they were finishing their drinks, Jaime realized that even though she was too young for him and a total stranger to boot, he damn well didn’t care. 

And it was while Sansa was talking about the struggles of her story’s heroine, Alayne, that Jaime felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.  He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, and to his utter horror, he witnessed Tyrion swaggering toward the bar.  Linked arm and arm with the two ladies whom he’d been wooing all night, Tyrion shot Jaime a knowing wink as they slowly pushed their way through the crowded dance floor.

Terrific.  Any minute now, Jaime’s engaging tête-à-tête with Sansa would come to a screeching halt.  He’d also experience one hell of an embarrassing exchange once Tyrion and company landed.  Without question, any chance Jaime had at getting to know Sansa better would vanish in an instant.

“Something wrong?” Sansa asked.

Jaime realized his attention had faltered.  “Sorry, I was just. . .”  Once again, he looked behind him.  Closer and closer Tyrion and his lady friends loomed. 

Jaime wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Tyrion and his new friends.  “It looks like your brother is coming over to see you,” Sansa laughed, “and if I’m not mistaken, he’s bringing you a date along with him.” 

Jaime’s head snapped toward her, his emerald eyes widened in disbelief that she’d accurately assessed the situation so swiftly.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong here, but based on your reaction, I’m guessing that you’re not interested?”

“You’re quite perceptive,” Jaime chuckled as Sansa covered her mouth and laughed.  He wished that he had more time to get to know the captivating young beauty.  “I’m afraid, though, that our time together has come to an end, my lady.”

“How so?”

“Well, you see, I’ll have to call a cab to take me home once Tyrion accepts the fact that I’m not the least bit interested in his diabolical plot to set me up with his new companion.”

Sansa bit her bottom lip as she shot one final glance over Jaime’s shoulder.  “Come with me,” she said.  Rising to her feet, she snatched her purse off the bar and tossed it onto her shoulder.

“Come with you?” Jaime repeated.  The wine was suddenly making it hard to focus, and the never-ending noise from the club swirled around him almost as if he were in a dream.  Had he heard her right?

“Let me take you home, Jaime.”

“You’re serious?”  He felt warm all over.  His throat was dry and his lips were numb.  He was reading way too much into the young woman’s offer.  Way, way too much. . .

“As serious as a heart attack.”  Sansa jutted out her hand as she had done earlier.  “C’mon, let’s go.”

Quickly, Jaime once again shot a glance over his shoulder.  Tyrion was hot on his heels; he’d be at the bar any minute.  Jaime looked back toward Sansa.  She tilted her head to the side and smiled at him.

Maybe Tyrion had been right all along.  Maybe Jaime did need to have fun for once.  He was a free man now.  Free of Cersei and all her mind games.  He deserved this.  He deserved to feel wanted again.

“I’d be honored, my lady.”  Rising to his feet, Jaime yanked his leather wallet out of the back pocket of his black dress slacks.  He jerked out a wad of money, an amount which far surpassed the total on his tab, and tossed it onto the bar before offering Sansa his arm.  “Lead the way, if you would be so kind.”

Sansa eagerly accepted his gentlemanly gesture and allowed him to escort her out of the bar area toward the main door of the nightclub.  “Don’t you need to tell your brother that you’re leaving with someone else?”

“He’s a terribly smart man.  I’m sure he’ll figure it out soon enough.”  Enjoying the playful look on the redhead’s face, Jaime hurriedly led them toward the door.

“You seem pretty smart yourself, you know,” Sansa grinned.

“And what makes you assume such a thing?” Jaime asked.

Shoving their way through the closely packed nightclub toward the exit, Sansa peered up into Jaime’s face. “You chose to leave with me, didn’t you?”

“That, my dear, would qualify me as a genius.”

Jaime’s heart sang as Sansa’s laughter echoed in the muggy late summer night air as the pair finally managed to escape the club, still arm in arm, and made their way to her car sitting in the back side of the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,  
> Alone and palely loitering?  
> The sedge has withered from the lake,  
> And no birds sing.  
>   
> \- John Keats, "La Belle Dame Sans Merci"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Sansa bond together while chatting over coffee, but it doesn't take long before the beautiful young lady and the handsome college professor connect in a decidedly different fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine months. Nine long, arduous months full of self-doubt and indecision on my part while struggling as a writer to make time to do just that. I do so apologize for the extremely long update, dear readers. If, by chance, you've bookmarked this tale and have returned, I hope that you will not be disappointed with this lengthy chapter. If you're new to this story, then welcome!
> 
> And for the record, this story might never have been updated had it not been for the kind words of encouragement from Janina, my fellow Jaimsa pal. Thank you, my liege!

While the inquisitive young woman was scrutinizing his partially shelved book collection, Jaime couldn’t help but smile.  Since they’d arrived at his condo not so long ago, Sansa had been studying his myriad books like an archaeologist attempting to decipher an ancient hieroglyph.  Lifting his eyes, he continued to stir the cream and sugar into her cup of coffee while stealing a peek at her through the pass-through window which linked his eat-in kitchen and great room.  She was running her fingers along the leather-bound spines, carefully examining each and every one.  With her furrowed brow and intense concentration, she looked like the world’s sexiest librarian.

“Like what you see?” he called out to her.  Resting the spoon on the granite countertop, he grabbed the coffees and headed out of the kitchen.

With her attention now diverted, Sansa radiated enthusiasm.  “Like it?” she replied as he handed her a mug, “I _love_ it!  Your collection is amazing.  How in the world did you ever get your hands on so many first editions?”

Jaime’s eyes drifted to the bookshelves.  Although he wanted to be honest, this didn’t seem like the right time to confess his former lover’s favorite form of apology was with her wallet.

“Many were gifts,” he answered, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity, “while others I found here and there while traveling.”

Sansa arched a ginger brow as he took a sip from his mug.  “And here I thought you were about to tell me how your brother found them for you.”

Smiling at her comment, Jaime’s eyes met hers again.  “Tyrion has been known to help me out a time or two.”

“Just not when you’re at a nightclub, right?”

When Sansa laughed, he did the same.  Once again, her assessment of his relationship with his younger brother had hit the bullseye on the first shot.

“Would you care to have a seat?” he asked, motioning toward the sofa.

“You’re too kind, my lord,” she said, dipping into a perfect curtsey.  Rising to her full height, she glided across the hard wood floor.  A mischievous look danced across her pretty face when she glanced at him over her shoulder.  Once seated on his sofa, she kicked off her heels, nudging them with her bare foot under his coffee table.  Peering at him through her thick lashes, she patted the cushion next to her.

Jaime’s lips curled at the corners.  It wasn’t really that much of a stretch of his imagination to envision the young lady, so full of poise and grace, as the regal queen of Winterfell, sitting there on her throne while beckoning him to her like a true high-born lady.

“As you wish, my lady,” he answered, giving her a slight bow before moving to join her.  Now seated next to her, he rested his coffee mug on the table.  When she did the same, he tried to be discreet when snatching an eyeful of her long, shapely legs.  His heartbeat quickened as he imagined what it would be like to touch her.  He hadn’t been with anyone but Cersei for so long, the thought both thrilled and terrified him all at once.

“So, tell me,” Sansa began, her eyes roaming along the organized chaos of moving boxes littering his living room, “of all the places you could’ve picked to relocate, what made you choose Winterfell?”

He paused for a moment while deciding how to answer.  Talking in vagaries sounded like his best option.

“Because it is the exact opposite of King’s Landing, that’s why.”

“Were you really that desperate to move somewhere small, cold, and boring?”  She grinned as she turned in her seat, tucking her legs under her as she faced him now.

“Precisely,” he answered, trying to maintain a serious expression but failing.

Sansa worried her bottom lip a few beats before she continued.  “I’ve always wanted to visit ‘the big city.’  It seems so elegant and beautiful there, not to mention a whole lot warmer.”

Leaning forward, Jaime scoffed before taking a sip from his mug.  “I can assure you,” he spoke while resting his cup down once again,” there’s nothing worthy of your time in that place.  Visit Essos if you’re looking for warmth, and if you’re in the mood for beauty and elegance, go to Dorne.”

Titling her head to the side, Sansa paused for a few beats.  “Is it really so terrible there?”

Jaime inhaled and exhaled slowly.  “It’s a loathsome place,” he began, leaning back against the sofa.  “There it’s all about social climbing, status, and who-knows-who.  All anyone cares about is money.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “And you think it’s so different here?”

“Folks here are the proverbial salt of the earth, or so my brother tells me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Jaime answered with a hint of a grin.  “Tyrion says that people here are down to earth and don’t care about all of that rubbish.  Northerners worry about their family and friends, not their portfolios and prestige.” 

“Your brother has a very romantic view of what it’s like here,” she replied, a tone of seriousness in her voice he’d not heard before now.  “Trust me, though.  There are plenty of people here who are just as invested in keeping up appearances.”

“Then let’s hope that I manage to avoid them.”

His levity made her smile.  “Well, whatever your motivation, I’m happy that you came.”

“You are?” he asked, unable to suppress his surprise.

Sansa glanced at her lap then back at him.  “I am.”

They fell silent for a moment as she studied him.  His pulse thrummed under the intensity of her gaze.  Frozen in place, he allowed her curious eyes to scissor across his face while she searched for whatever it was she needed to find.  While sitting there, half of him wanted to kiss her while the other half wanted to scream at her to run.

Clearing her throat, Sansa finally looked away.  “I really hope you find what you’re looking for here in Winterfell,” she said while fiddling with the raised leather buttons on the seat, “though I doubt you will.”

“And why is that?”

Sansa swallowed hard.  "This place is _so_ suffocating.  It’s like everyone knows everyone here.  You can’t blink without someone reporting it back to your family.”

Jaime could almost smell the frustration wafting off her.

“You sound as if you speak from first-hand experience.”

“You have _no_ idea.”

“Then I’ll be sure to remain on my best behavior in your presence,” he teased her.

Thankfully, her smile returned.  She looked at him then, her teeth gnawing her bottom lip a second or two.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be on your best behavior.”  With her words still lingering between them, she untucked her legs and edged toward him.

His mouth fell open when she leaned forward, her hands now resting on his thighs.  With her eyelashes fluttering shut, she slowly entered his personal space.  Watching her coming closer and closer, he remained still, not allowing his eyes to close until her soft lips touched his.

He wasn’t quite sure whether it was shock or fear which prevented him from moving at first, but when the gentle press of her mouth became more demanding, his body responded in turn.  His hands found their way to her hair, diving inside and holding on as she swiped her tongue across his parted lips.  As their kiss intensified, her hands wandered, sliding higher and higher until they made contact with her target.

“Are you sure you want this?” Jaime whispered, rearing back to search her face for something – anything – that showed hesitation on her part.  He found nothing of the sort.  The tiny flecks of gold and green in her eyes were barely visible anymore.  Her chest was rising and falling almost as fast as his, and though they’d barely rounded second base, she looked as wrecked as he felt.

“I do,” she replied, her voice low and throaty.  “Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, but. . .gods, Sansa. . .”  His words died on the vine when one of her hands cupped him through his slacks and began kneading his growing erection.  Not letting go, she scooted backward until her knees hit the hardwood.

“I want this, Jaime,” she said while looking him straight in the eye.  “Please. . .let me show you.”

He tried to speak, tried to give her a chance to change her mind, but now that her small hands were unbuckling his belt and unzipping his dress slacks, his body and brain began to war with one another.  On the drive to his place from the nightclub, he’d resolved to behave like a gentleman.  Even when she’d eagerly accepted his offer to come inside for coffee before heading back into the night, he’d refused to assume anything about her intentions.

Her intentions became crystal clear, however, the minute she reached inside his boxers and started stroking him.  In disbelief, he watched her slide his cock out of its confines, tentatively tugging at him until she found a rhythm.  Dipping her head downward, her fiery tresses shrouded his lap like a curtain stitched from pure sin.

“Bloody hell,” was all he managed when her lips touched the head of his cock, her tongue darting out to trace the rim before she kissed her way down his shaft.  Reaching the base, she pressed her tongue against his heated skin, licking her way upward, tracing the thick vein on the underside and then across the wet tip.  When she took him into her mouth and began to blow him in earnest, his eyes slammed shut, his head falling back onto the sofa.  His hands, still locked in her hair, combed through her tresses, which were one hell of a hot mess now thanks to him.

As the slick sounds of Sansa’s mouth and hands reverberated off the walls of his living room, without warning a memory of Cersei danced across his consciousness.  It was early in their illicit relationship, one of their impromptu mid-day hook-ups where he’d dash across town from the university to his place just to have one stolen hour with her.  After their moment of passion, he’d grabbed his notebook off the nightstand, burning with the desire to show his love by reading a poem he’d written for her.  Instead she interrupted him, making her excuses and hopping out of his bed like a cat on fire.  She’d gathered her belongings from the floor and left him lying there in his bed, still unclothed and entwined in sheets, his heart breaking as he watched her leave.

Eyes still closed, Jaime grimaced.  The beautiful, smart, witty young woman who was willingly kneeling between his legs – the very woman who’d captured his attention like no other had in ages - was offering him more than he could’ve hoped for tonight, yet who was he thinking about right now?  Cersei, damn him.

Hoping to scare away his wayward thoughts, he lifted his head and opened his eyes.  Christ almighty, Sansa was a vision to behold.  Her enthusiasm for the act, however, was bringing him to the edge so fast, his vision was staring to blur.  When she massaged his balls, he was quite certain that angels sang.

While watching Sansa pleasure him, Jaime made himself a promise.  Tonight was the beginning of the end.  He’d come all this way and given up so much to make a fresh start, it was high-time he stopped dwelling on what might have been.  He wanted rid of Cersei.  He wanted rid of her once and for all.  He was through letting her haunt him.  If he didn’t start living in the present, his past would destroy him.

“Sansa, please. . .get up,” he all but croaked as he encouraged her to look at him.  When she ceased her ministrations, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  The confusion on her face let him know she thought she’d done something wrong.

“As much as I love what you’re doing, if you don’t stop now, I’m afraid that the show might end with no chance for an encore.”

Digesting the implication, she giggled while he tucked himself into place and zipped his pants.  “And what exactly is the encore?”

Leaving his belt hanging from the loops, he stood and held out his hand.  “Allow me to show _you_ , my lady.”  A dull ache gnawed the pit of his stomach when she worried that bottom of lip of hers once again.  In his lifetime, he’d never imagined that a nervous habit could be so infuriatingly erotic.

“Lead the way, my lord,” she replied, resting her hand in his and rising to her bare feet.

Grinning like a fool, he led her around the coffee table straight to his bedroom.  Over his shoulder, he glanced at her as they walked together, planning the whole trip down the hallway how he’d slow things down now that their coupling was imminent.  He’d undress her as unhurriedly as possible, savoring each and every scrap of her skin as it was revealed.  He’d ensure she found her release - multiple times, even – long before he found his.  Sansa was a goddess, an ethereal being sent from the heavens to walk on earth among mortals, and he’d be damned if he didn’t worship her in the manner in which she deserved.

Sansa had different plans, however.

They’d no sooner entered the doorway of his bedroom before the red wolf pounced.  Grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, she yanked him to her and kissed him even harder than before.  His hands held onto her waist like a lifeline while hers were everywhere at once, first in his hair, then down his back and scratching their way up his chest.  When she released him suddenly, he tried to catch his breath as she wrenched his black dress shirt from his waistband.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing slightly as several buttons flew across the room thanks to her eagerness.

“Don’t be.  I never liked that shirt anyway.”

She grinned at him while divesting him of his garment, stepping back as she let it fall to the floor.  Swiftly, her dress was over her head, joining the growing pile of discarded clothing.  He followed suit, shedding his slacks and boxers in one fell swoop, peeling off his socks and tossing them aside.  She in turn unhooked her bra, dropping it where she stood, then slipped her silky black panties down her long legs and stepped out of them.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he rasped, his eyes raking along her pale, lithe form.  He was surprised, though, when her bravado faltered under his inspection, her arms unconsciously moving to wrap around herself.  Sensing that she may be having second thoughts, he stepped forward, closing the small slip of space separating them.  He placed a hand under her chin, urging her to look at him and not the floor.

“What’s wrong, love?”  Her eyes met his in silence, obviously unsure she should reveal whatever it was that was bothering her.

It was then that he realized how very little he knew about the gorgeous young author-in-the-making.  She’d shared a few bits and pieces about her life, mostly related to her passion for books and for her craft.  He knew nothing about her family, her friends, or her hobbies.  He wasn’t exactly sure how old she was, and he couldn’t remember if she’d mentioned the name of the restaurant where she worked.  Hell, he didn’t even know why she’d shown up at the nightclub tonight in the first place.

But to be fair, it wasn’t like he’d divulged much personal information either.  Outside of chatting about his brother or his love of Romantic poetry, he’d not disclosed much else.  He’d also neglected to mention that he was a college professor, focusing instead on the fact that he was a writer, too, and not on the fact that he’d probably been teaching about as many years as she’d been alive.

Jaime bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing his urge to laugh at how vain he was sometimes.  He smiled down at her, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.  Though they were total strangers, he wanted to know her.  Not just in the biblical sense, but deeply – intimately – on so many levels.

None of that mattered right now, though.  All that truly mattered was making Sansa feel safe.

“I want you to know that you’re in charge here tonight, my lady.  If you want me to stop, just say the word, and we get dressed.”

Sansa stared at him like she’d seen a ghost.  “You mean that?”

Jaime nodded.  “Absolutely.”

Exhaling like she’d been unburdened from the press of a heavy weight, she relaxed her shoulders and allowed her arms to return to her sides.  Her head titled as she studied him, all outward signs of nervousness dissipating as fast as they’d appeared.

“I’ve never met a man like you before.”

“That’s because there are no men like me.  Only me.”

Caught off guard, she laughed at his wisecrack, covering her mouth until she gained control of herself.

“You just might be right about that,” she finally whispered into the darkness of his bedroom, scarcely lit by the light drifting in from the hallway.  “And for the record, I don’t want you to stop.”  Rising on her toes, she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Before things could escalate, Jaime broke free, scooping her up into his arms like a bride.  He relished the barely audible yelp she emitted when he spun her around and closed the short distance to his bed.  Gently he laid her there, climbing onto the bed to join her.  He hovered over her for a moment, drinking in her youthful beauty before he lay down beside her, resting his weight on one of his arms.

Their lips met once again, and thankfully, she allowed him the privilege of exploring the expanse of her warm skin, first tracing the curve of her hip then skimming along her stomach until he touched the underside of her breast.  Cupping it, he massaged it lightly, brushing his thumb over her hardened peak.

After a time, Sansa pressed against his chest, urging him to look at her.

“Do you have any. . .uh. . .” she tried to ask, “you know. . .”

He smiled at her, amused by her sudden shyness once again.

“If you’re not able to say the word, my lady, then mayhaps I should send you home.”

“You’ll not rid yourself of me that easily, my lord.”  The corners of her mouth betrayed her enjoyment even though she tried to sound stern.  She punctuated her retort with a firm slap to his ass.  “Remember: I’m in charge.”

A wicked grin stretched across his face.  Never a religious man, he caught himself praying to whoever might be in charge in hopes he’d have a chance to explore that side of her one day.  He reached across her to rummage through the drawer of his nightstand, knowing full well she assumed they were on the verge of consummation.

Jaime had different plans, however.

Tossing the foil packet onto the table instead of ripping it open, he snatched a kiss before he crawled down to the foot of the bed, sliding off and situating himself on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she asked while propping herself on her elbows.

“This.”

Offering no further explanation, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her to him.  He placed his hands on her thighs, pressing on them so she’d open up.  She quickly submitted, her breathing heavy now in anticipation of what he was about to do.  As he parted her legs, a growl emanated from deep within his chest when he saw her cunt unfold, slippery with her arousal.  Like a green young lad seeing a woman up close for the very first time, he stared at her in wonder until she interrupted his moment of reverie.

“You don’t have to, you know. . .do that.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Not looking away, Jaime lowered his head between her legs.  When he raked his tongue through her folds, pausing long enough to suck her bud into his mouth before releasing it, Sansa gasped and shivered all at once.  He repeated the action, this time swirling his tongue around her swelling clit.  That caused her head to fall back onto the pillow.  She bucked her hips after the third pass, which caused him to chuckle just a tad.  Grasping her thighs firmly to hold her in place, he dove in like a man half-starved.

Her hands found their way to his hair, her nails dragging along his scalp while he feasted.  He winced a time or two when she scratched his scalp or tugged his hair too roughly, but truly, he didn’t mind.  The sounds she made while he pleasured her – her whines and moans and cries for more - filled his heart with pride.  And when she came, hard and fast, his name on her lips as she howled in ecstasy, he knew he wouldn’t be lasting long tonight.

While he watched her panting in recovery, Jaime clambered to his feet.  He waited until she opened her eyes and looked at him before wiping his beard with his hand then popping a finger, still wet with her juices, into his mouth.

Sansa’s own mouth fell open.  “Holy shit. . .that’s hot.”

Always the smart ass, he couldn’t resist a chance to tease her, albeit in a decidedly different fashion.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tutted at her while crawling back onto the bed and straddling her, “such language from the lady.”

Sansa didn’t miss a beat.  “Fuck me.”

His blond eyebrows lifted to his hairline.

A sinful grin spread across her lips.  “How’s _that_ for language, my lord?”

Jaime lost it.  He laughed and laughed, Sansa joining him in his merriment.  As they settled down, she smiled sweetly up at him while rubbing his beard.

“I’m so glad I met you tonight,” she said, running her fingers along the angles of his jawline.

“I am as well.”

“So. . .are you going to - ”

“Right.  ‘Fuck me.’  I’m on it.” 

With her laughter in his ears, he had the shiny packet ripped to shreds and had lined himself up at her entrance in record speed.  He lost all sense of space and time when he slid into her.  Once fully seated inside her, he forced himself to breathe.  Slowly he pulled back, almost all the way out, leaving just the head of his cock still buried. 

“Jaime. . .” she whimpered, “please.”

He smiled down at her when he pushed inside once again.  In and out he thrust, setting a slow but steady pace as he savored the vision of beauty beneath him.  Her long, copper mane was fanned out across his pillow, her red lips parted and her eyes all but shut.  He’d hoped to take his time with her once joined, but alas, he was a man too far gone.  With her nails dragging along his back and her hips moving in time with his, it didn’t take long before he’d come with a shout and a shudder.

Rolling off her, he lay beside her, desperate to catch his breath.  Without speaking, she rolled onto her side and snuggled against him.  As she rested her head on his chest and began to scratch at the damp hairs there, he wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly.  The two of them lay there in silence for a while, him mindlessly running his fingers through her wild hair while trying to think of a way to ask her what came next.  Did she want to leave?  Did she want to stay?  Would he ever see her again after tonight?

“It’s getting kind of late,” she said, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“It’s been late for quite some time, I’m afraid.”  When she giggled at his joke, he angled himself to look down into her face.  She smiled up at him, worrying her lip the whole time.  He swallowed hard before he spoke again.  “You know, I was thinking. . .perhaps you’d like to stay here for the night.”

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

“I wouldn’t dare to presume anything, of course,” he continued, his confidence faltering the longer she stared at him like a doe in the headlights.  “That is to say, I could sleep on the couch and you could – ”

Sansa silenced him, placing a finger over his lips.

“I’d love to stay.”  Her voice was so soft that he questioned whether he’d heard her correctly.

“You would?”

“I would.”  Grinning at him, her hand slid down his chest and skimmed along his stomach.  “And I’m fine right here, if that’s okay with you.”

Jaime was positive his heart skipped a beat.  “I’d love nothing more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fear not for the future, weep not for the past." - Percy Bysshe Shelley


End file.
